One Missed Call
by prosfan
Summary: Lewis and Hathaway leave the pub, but someone is watching them. One of them is abducted and the other has to find where he is and why he was taken before its too late. Not Slash. Rated T for breathing space. Usual disclaimers apply.
1. Chapter 1

The two men laughed as they left the pub. One, thickset and shorter, was gesticulating wildy, doing an impression of some suspect or another. The other one, tall and lanky, was laughing as they walked away from the lights of the public house.

"I still find it funny how he seemed more worried about the accusation of visiting a brothel than the one of murder sir." This was the tall one speaking. His manner portrayed his rank. He looked directly at the older man when he was speaking. Even though they were off duty he called the man 'sir'.

"Aye Hathaway, but a man of his standing" he puts on as posh an accent as his own will allow, "from Oxford don't you know" He reverts back to the default Geordie tones. "Couldn't have allowed himself to be seen in that light." His age belies the higher rank but his mannerisms do not. He pays equal attention to the younger man's words, he uses the man's name instead of his working title.

"He'd have preferred to be seen as a murderer than seen in a house of ill repute?"

"Aye, sad as it is lad. Oxford's only ever about reputation. Nothing like Tyneside." The sergeant nods. He can imagine it isn't, but decides not to make a witty comment. They start to split up as they head to their respective houses and the man in the bushes that has been watching them, uncovers him self and begins to follow the one that is closest.

Lewis stands at his front door. Something is niggling him but he can't work it out. It's something he was supposed to do, something that someone needed to be told. He decides that it can't have been that important and shrugs as he heads inside. He blames the beer for the unsteadiness of his actions and for the loss of memory. He is by no means legless, but tipsy wouldn't be the wrong word to describe him. Deciding that this is probably a good time to stop drinking he goes to make himself a cup of tea and fix himself a sandwich. He smiles as he recounts one of the jokes Hathaway made during the evening. The lad has a far dirtier mind than his appearance gives him credit for. As he gets into bed he remembers that it was Hathaway he needed to tell...whatever it was. He sighs, hopefully he'll remember what in the morning.

James walked unsteadily back to his flat. Something tells him he was a little more intoxicated than his inspector. He smiles as he remembers Lewis trying not to laugh at his dirty joke. In hindsight he should have told that after Innocent and Hobson had left but, beer tends to make you forget about stuff like that. Especially a significant about of beer like he'd had. He pulled his jacket tighter around him. It was cold tonight. A bracing cold. The warmth of the beer has long left his body and he craves getting into his flat and climbing into his nice, warm bed. He hears a sound behind him and turns but there is nobody there. James laughs to himself, _hearing things sergeant_, he can almost hear Lewis' voice in his head. A second noise and he turns again, too late to stop the punch that canons into his stomach. Retching, he brings his hands up, determined to give this attacker a taste of his own medicine. Yet another thing that beer has an effect on, a man's bravado. Another punch and he is sprawled on the floor. As he gets up, something metal and heavy is slammed into his head and he blacks out, crumpling into a heap on the cobbles.

The man, gloved hands opening a blue car boot, drags the unconscious man over and heaves him in. He doesn't notice the sergeants eyes flicker open as he shuts the large door.

James starts as he is plunged into darkness. He scrambles for his mobile phone, his primary focus being to get some light on the matter. After a few minutes he realises that the signal bar isn't empty and he brings up his contact list. Ins. Lewis. He presses call, hoping against hope that his friend hasn't already gone to bed and curses when after 15 rings, he is put through to voice mail.

"Sir. This is James, I've been, er, abduted sir. This is ridiculous." He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, tries to hide the pain in his stomach and the throbbing of his head. He doesn't succeed. "I'm in the boot of a car sir. Think its blue. Ouch. Would appreiciate it if you'd-" He hadn't heard the car stop. The first thing he knows about it is when the boot flies open and a punch is delivered to his stomach once again. He cries out as another is landed, this time on his ribs. Gasping for breath he is powerless to stop his phone being wrenched out of his hands and he hears it slam shut, the call cut off. He's dragged out again and an attempt to overpower his attacker is swiftly dealt with by another blow to the head.

Meanwhile. Inspector Lewis turns over in his bed and carries on sleeping.


	2. Chapter 2

Lewis awakens with a clarity of thought that was noticeably absent before he went to sleep. He was supposed to tell James the night before that DCS Innocent wanted them in that afternoon for some de-brief about the last case. The Oxford Don with the penchant for women and the passion for murder. He looked at his watch, it was only nine o'clock. He'd let his sergeant sleep in a bit.

James grunts as he shifts his position. He seems to be in some sort of basement. All he can really tell is that its cold. And kind of damp. He sits up gingerly and takes stock of himself. Head, throbbing. Stomach, turning and throbbing. Ribs, they just hurt. He reaches a shaky hand up to the back of his head and winces as it comes away covered in blood. That's going to need medical attention that he hopes he'll stay alive to get. He realises that his message to Lewis was useless. All he had told his superior was that he was in a blue car and that, admittedly not on purpose, he was hurt. Neither of these things would help his inspector, in fact they will just worry him. His next thought is that he hopes, if the worst comes to the worst, that Lewis isn't the one to find him.

Half 10 now, and Lewis decides his hungover young sergeant has had enough recovery time. He goes to tell him about their meeting with Innocent and frowns as he reads his phone screen.

_1 voice-mail: James Hathaway_

Its isn't like James to leave him a voice-mail. He smirks as he realises this could very well be a drunken phone call that he can tease his sergeant about later. Putting his phone on speaker, he sets about making another cup of tea. The message makes him go cold.

"Sir. This is James, I've been, er, abducted sir. This is ridiculous." If Lewis hadn't heard the first sentence he'd find James' incredulity at his own message amusing. As it was he was too worried to notice the sarcasm in James' voice. He could only hear the pain. "I'm in the boot of a car sir. Think its blue. Ouch. Would appreciate it if you'd-" Lewis grabs the phone as his sergeants pained yell cuts through him, he can hear the gasping breaths that are undeniably Hathaway's. He curses as the recording cuts off, leaving him with no clue to his sergeants whereabouts. He rings Innocent straight after and explains what has happened. He flies off the handle when she asks whether it could be a drunken prank. "Only if he found someone willing to punch him hard enough to make him scream ma'am" he spits out. Once he says that, Innocent tells, orders him to come into the station and tell her exactly what happened.

He drives fast. Lewis has always loved driving fast, it was one of the main points of contention between him and Morse. He doesn't enjoy it today though. He doesn't even realise he's doing it today. Tooling the car into a parking spot he walks straight to Innocent's office. She looks up, seeing the mixture of anger and fear on his face and tells him to sit down. He slumps into the chair and pulls out his phone.

"What exactly happened Robbie?" Lewis explains the walk home from the pub the night before, filling his boss in on what happened for the half hour the lads stayed after the girls left. Then he plays the voice-mail. When the recording shows their mutual friends helpless pain, they both look at each other. No words are spoken, their eyes show it all. The cold glint in Lewis' challenging her to tell him again this was a drunken joke. Innocents own eyes show pity. Some for the man who has been hurt and some for the man who has to find him.

"I think the best thing to do is to go to the pub" he is grateful that she doesn't make a sarky comment. He isn't sure how he would've reacted but he doesn't think he would have been a copper much longer. "There was other people left at the same time as us. I should go and interview the regulars anyway." Even as he says it, Lewis knows its useless. There were three other people that left at the same time as them. One older man who headed for the canal and two students who went in the other direction, and were so lovestruck they wouldn't have noticed a bomb go off at their feet. None of them came close to where he and James had left each other. Despite this, he got in his car and drove dutifully to the pub.

Hathaway shivers, its gotten colder if that is possible. He's resigned himself to the fact that he probably won't be rescued, Lewis can't possibly know where to find him. _He_ doesn't even know where to find him. He tries to work out some thing about his surroundings. He can't hear any cars, so he surmises that he is out of Oxford. Of course, he can't be sure of this, he has no idea how deep he is or how thick the walls are. They can't have been driving for long, as his he was only on the phone to Lewis for a minute tops, and they were only driving a few minutes before that. He is fairly convinced he didn't pass out again on the drive so he can only be 10 minutes from where he and Lewis parted company. He realises this makes no odds, Oxford is a big place to search and the searching people won't know to look in a ten minute radius. His heart sinks as he realises also that a speeding car doing say, 60mph, would cover a lot of ground in ten minutes. And even if they had been stopped because if the speeding, the traffic cops wouldn't have been inclined to look in the boot for any reason. Sighing, he lies on the cold, stone floor and decides that if he can't escape, sleep is the next best thing. It'd ease the pain in his head anyway.

Lewis sighs, his enquires at the pub were as fruitless as he thought they would be. Looking for inspiration he walks to the square where he left James the night before. Sitting heavily on the bench he looks about despondently. He sees the bush dark, out of the way of the street lights and notices that someone could easily have hidden behind there and watched them both. After a time he realises he's being watched. He can feel someone staring at him. Looking up, he sees a figure on a bench opposite. Intending to go over and have it out with this intruder, he stops short as he realises that he is looking down at a child. The child looks up at him, curiosity and a hint of fear in his eyes. Lewis' policing kicks in as he sits down next to the boy. He looks at his watch. Half past ten.

"It's a bit late for you to be sat out here on your own Isn't it lad?" The boy just looks away hurriedly and focuses intently on the sketchbook, he is clutching. Lewis recognises the lads reticence and concludes that he doesn't have the happiest home life. He changes tack.

"What's that then?" He says indicating the sketchbook.

"S'me drawin's sir." Lewis studies the lad as he opens up the sketch book. His accent isn't local, London, maybe even cockney. He must be about 10, maybe 11 years of age. He's a small lad, scrawny and wiry. He looks down at the drawing the boy has opened up to. Its a picture of a man stood by the bus spot, using his Ipod. It is remarkably good. Lewis, who can only draw stick men, is impressed. He smiles.

"You do this often sonny? Sit here and draw people?" The little boy nods. He flicks forward a few pages and show the inspector a picture that makes him start. It is a picture of him, sat on the bench opposite staring at the bush. "But that's me. That's very very good laddie." The boy smiles and closes the book. He is glad someone likes his pictures. The school just tells him off for not doing his work. Mum isn't interested, just tells him to go outside and play or something, get out the flat. His dad, well he wouldn't show them to his dad. It'd only get him a slap. This man though. He was nice. He seemed to care, or he did a very good job of pretending. He'd liked the look of him when he'd seen him the other night. Didn't draw him then though. Him and his friend weren't there long enough He takes a deep breath.

"Don't wanna go 'ome sir." Lewis looks at him.

"Why's that?" He asks softly.

"Me dad's home sir. And he's bin at the pub probably. Safer out here. No-one looks twice at me." Lewis' heart breaks as he sees the lad really does believe that he is safer wandering the streets of Oxford alone at night than going home. He knows better than to challenge this view. It'll only make the boy clam up again.

"What's your name then son?". Silence for a few seconds and then a quiet;

"Tommy. Tommy Elliot."

"Where you from then Tommy? Not round here I bet." The boy looks sad again.

"Nah, From Lambeth, in London. The other boys in school don't like me accent. Says I probably got born on a market stall." Lewis sighed. Kids could cruel. He remembers Ken getting teased while he was at school for having a copper for a father. But the boys back then never brought class into it.

"Take no notice of them Tommy."

"S'ard sir. If I gets into one more fight with them, I'm gonna get chucked out on me ear." He adds quietly. "Then I can't never go home." Lewis pretends not to hear. "I ain't s'posed to talk to no strangers neither" he says looking pointedly at Lewis.

"I'm not a stranger. I'm a policeman." The boys eyes widen.

"Really? You're a proper policeman? Where's your uniform then eh?." Lewis chuckles, the lad seems really interested.

"I don't have a uniform. I'm CID. Detective, that's me." The lad suddenly goes quiet. He fidgets nervously and Lewis gets the feeling that he wants to say something that he thinks he shouldn't. He starts to wonder what the boy mixed himself up in but a small, scared voice breaks through his thoughts.

"Are you hear about last night mister?" That's too close to be a coincidence.

"Yeah I am. What do you-" Lewis stops suddenly."You were here last night, weren't you Tommy? You saw something didn't you?" He sees the boys frightened look and calms himself a bit. "Look Tommy. I need to know what you saw. My ser...A friend of mine has gone missing. I need to find him before something bad happens to him." He can see the boy wrestling with himself. "You can tell me Tommy. I'm a policeman remember?" He gets out his warrant card for the boy to inspect. The small hands take it and evaluate it the way only a child can. Finally, Tommy nods and gives it back.

"I never saw the man's face. Not the one with the hood. But he come out that bush there when you had left and followed the tall blond man. When they got near that lam post he punched 'im and they 'ad a fight. Your friend wasn't very good. The other man hit him with something shiny and put 'im in the boot of his car."

"Was the car blue Tommy?"

"Yeah. I drew it, I hid behind the tree though. Didn't want them to see me. Your mate got a thumpin' though."

"Tommy, can I see the picture?" Another small nod and a picture of a small car was shoved under his nose. "Are you sure everything in this picture is right."

"Yes sir. I'm good at 'membering things." Lewis gave the boy a huge grin. He was staring down at the number plate of the car that had spirited his partner away.


	3. Chapter 3

James stirred as light seeped in through the door. This was the first contact he'd had with anyone since he'd been snatched. He wasn't looking forward to it. He was roughly hauled to his feet, no care taken over his injuries.

"Look at me copper" his captor spat. James looked. He didn't recognise this bloke, so he figured that ruled out direct revenge from a case. Could still be indirect revenge. Or, if they were really unlucky, it was a simple psychopath. They were, in his experience, well, bloody unpredictable. Oh, the man was taking again. "I can't stand coppers. Corrupt, smug bastards the lot of you" A slight smile tugged at James' mouth as an unbidden memory surfaced.  
>"<em>I'm not smug ma'am. It's just the unfortunate shape of my face." <em>He smirked inadvertently. This earned him a backhander across the cheek. His face stung and when Carl took his hand away there was blood on his signet ring.

"Just you wait Sergeant. I'll get you and your precious Inspector. You won't be fucking laughing then." He slammed the door behind him as he left. James sobered immediately. This was no longer just about him. This nut job wanted his inspector too. James groaned, this time not entirely due to pain. He groaned with the knowledge that if this maniac told Lewis to meet in order to save him, then the older man would turn up and probably get killed for his trouble. And there was nothing he could do to stop him.

Lewis wasted no time the next morning in making calls to traffic in order to get an identification on the owner of the car. He told Innocent what he had learnt from Tommy and she gave him permission to chase it up fully.

It turned out that the car belonged to a Mr Carl Ashworth. At the age of 18 he'd been done for possession of cannabis and sentenced to 9 months at her majesty's pleasure. It seemed that while inside, young Mr Ashworth had picked up a number of bad habits and skills and had been in prison on and off for the next 15 years for steadily more dangerous offences. The man had always stipulated his hatred of the police force. He'd assaulted a officer the year before and now this maniac had his sergeant.

He'd worked at it all day, trying to work out where this man would go, waiting for the car to be spotted. He'd spent most of his time reading up on Ashworth's background. Carl had been in a mental hospital for a little while, for anger management issues. The hospital had long since closed down, left derelict on the outskirts of Oxford. Going every which way except forward was taking its toll on Robbie and he snapped when a DC had knocked on the door.

"Away man, what d'ye want?" Worry and fatigue had thickened his accent considerably. The young Constable stammered out a reply as he handed Lewis an envelope

"Er...T-this was left for y-you at front desk s-sir." Lewis' face softened a little.

"Sorry lad. Ah'm jest a bit..." DC Michaels smiled sadly.

"I hope you find him sir. Sergeant Hathaway, I mean."

"Aye man. So do I." Lewis said sadly as the young CID man left. He opened the envelope and stared dumbly at the note inside.

_Dear Inspector Lewis, _

_If you want to see your sergeant again, meet me at the old mental hospital out the west of Oxford. Don't bring any other coppers with you. If you do I'll put a bullet through him. And it won't necessarily be in his heart. Might be his shoulder...or his kneecap. Then I'll sort you out Inspector._

_Eight o'clock tomorrow night at the old asylum._

_I look forward to it. _

Carl had scrawled his name across the bottom.

For the second time that day Lewis went cold. The idea of...James being shot, being kneecapped. Well it put the fear of god through him. He was immediately in his DCS's office with the note and they discussed their plans for the following day.

James grimaced. After a day, the bruises were really making themselves felt. And he was hungry. He hadn't eaten since, about an hour before they went to the pub. And that had only been a sandwich. He'd not had a drink since he'd first been walloped over the head either. He was cold, damp and dizzy. Swallowing down a feeling of nausea, he started to examine the place where he was held captive. After a while he decided that it wasn't a basement. It was a cell. He laughed dryly. It'd certainly be ironic if he was being kept in the very station that he worked at. This thought was soon dismissed though. The cell's at the station were much better maintained. These had moss growing down the walls. The doors were flecked with rust, there were remnants of fabric on the floor and hanging off the walls. Maybe they had been padded. Then he got it. A padded cell, he was in that old disused asylum. Bloody hell, no one would ever find him here. The place was a veritable maze, he'd never find his way out even if he did escape this cell. He stood up, stretching the long legs, and made a half hearted attempt to kick the rusty door. After two attempts, he fell back exhausted, his ribs and stomach on fire. Groaning as much with dizziness and nausea as pain, he passed out, slumped in the corner of the cell.


	4. Chapter 4

Half past seven the next evening, saw Robbie Lewis sat in his car a mile from the old asylum. There were non-uniformed coppers stationed around the 1 mile radius. He didn't dare bring any with him. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Carl Ashworth would carry out his threats. It'd be ok for him, one shot, probably in the head and that'd be the last of it. But this nutter was the kind of guy that would delight in making James witness his superiors death before crippling him for life. The knowledge terrified him.

.

James eventually came round to the sight of Carl standing over him.

"Come on copper. We're gonna go meet your governor." James groaned again. Lewis had fallen for it. He looked up vacantly at his captor. A little voice in the recesses of his mind told him that he had possibly got concussion. He ignored it, trying to stand. The world span as he leant against the once padded wall. Carl roughly grabbed his collar. As he was being half dragged out he suddenly realised he'd have to stop this nutcase. The shot gun that had just been shoved into the side of his head would keep Lewis far away enough. Or it wouldn't. But James refused to think about that. His ribs screamed in protest as he was shoved ahead, pushed through the foyer of the dilapidated building. They hid behind a wide stone pillar and James slid, panting to the floor. His only hope now was that Lewis, in his hurry to get there, would get pulled over and arrested by a traffic cop. Admittedly not going to happen, but James' pain dulled mind, could see no other alternative that would keep his chief away.

.

Driving up the main drive of the old place, Lewis shrugged off his jacket. He may need to move fast, it'd only be hindrance. The officers around were given orders that if, after 15 minutes he had not returned, they were to come and help. Slowly though, he had no wish to set off a bloodbath. He advanced into the building, aware that Ashworth was probably watching him and probably knew exactly where he was. Looking to the sides as he walked, he saw the run down tables and chairs and the leaflet rack that made up the foyer. He heard a scuffling noise and a shout. If his sergeants voice made him pause, the noises following made him stop.

.

James could hear his friends footfalls as he walked into the foyer. Next to him, Carl hefted the shot gun. Hathaway's senses were on full alert and in his worry, he did the only thing he could think of.

"SIR! GET OUT! HE'S GOT A SHOT GUN!" he roared in an attempt to get his superior officer to turn around. He was rewarded with a kick to the stomach and having a strong hand pushed into his throat. Choking, he stared levelly into his captors eye's, it worked. Unnerved, Carl let go of Hathaway's neck and let him drop onto the open floor gasping.

.

Lewis didn't need 25 years experience to know that the dull thud was a caused by Ashworth kicking James. It went quiet and Lewis was just about to speak when James fell out from behind the pillar, grasping his throat and alternatively gasping and coughing.

"James? Are you ok son?" Lewis shouted across the echoing foyer. A hand raised, a shaky thumbs up, before the exhausted young man slumped face down on the floor, breathing heavily. This reassured the older man somewhat although he'd have been happier if the lad had spoke. He could see a dark red patch on the back of the James' head and gulped.

"No more questions copper. Or he gets it." Carl moved behind James' prostrate form, towering over him.

"You want me. Not him. Leave him alone."

"Wrong. I'm indiscriminate Mr Lewis. If you're a copper I'll get you" To accentuate his point, he gave James a light kick in the leg. "You put a foot wrong Detective Inspector and he gets hurt. He puts a foot wrong and...well we'll see. Might hurt you." Lewis swallowed. Carl turned to Hathaway. "Get up" When he got little response he shouted. "GET UP! Or I'll shoot your boss." James moaned. Breath rasping, he struggled to his feet. If it had only been the two of them, he'd have given up. But he couldn't let the maniac behind him hurt his governor. Shaking slightly, he stood, giving his superior a ghost of a smile as he swayed a little. Lewis gnashed his teeth at the site of his sergeants injuries.

"Ashworth! You can't think you'll get away with this. My station knows that I came out here. If I don't come back, they'll come looking for you."

"Shut up inspector." Carl slammed the butt of the gun into Hathaway's shoulder. James merely grunted in response as he nearly lost his footing. His head injury was catching up with him. Lewis could see that he was on his last legs and if he collapsed, Ashworth would kill them both.

"Away man, you know Ah'm right." The unhinged man, realising some truth in the older man's words, sunk a punch into Hathaway's stomach, causing the man to double up, coughing and spitting at the floor.

"Enough's enough. You tell me Lewis. Which one of you do I kill first eh?" Lewis was rooted to the spot. It was a cruel game the man was playing and Lewis didn't know the rules. He looked at James, doubled over and made a decision. He couldn't see the man in any more pain.

"You best shoot me first Carl. 'Cause if you shoot that'n you'll have to turn that gun on me sharp because I'll be going for your throat." James couldn't believe what he was hearing. That madman of a boss was going to let himself get shot in an attempt to save him. Also, where did he get all that patter from? Wasn't like Lewis to act the hard man. Hathaway saw Carl levelling the gun at Lewis and gathered his strength. His entire body was focused on Ashworth's trigger finger. Finally he could stand it no longer. He launched himself at Carl just as he pulled the trigger. The shot buried itself into he ceiling, accompanied of Lewis' shout of; "No! James." as he realised the danger his sergeant was in. The two men scuffled, James' virtually dead weight working to his advantage, as he pinned Carl to the floor.

"Stay...back...sir." James looked at Lewis. "He's...still got...the gun." Lewis could only nod. The glint of the barrel made it apparent that thesaid gun was sandwiched between the two men. He could see James' strength failing, he was amazed the lad had even managed to charge the heavier man.

And then the gun went off.


	5. Chapter 5

"JAMES!" Lewis shouted as the two forms on the floor shuddered. He could see Hathaway's back moving up and down, but that could just as easily be Ashworth's breathing moving his sergeants dead body. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding when James, ever so slowly, rolled off Carl's body. He smiled slightly as his friends eyes snapped open. He ran over and knelt down, relief flooding him as he saw that most of the blood drenching Hathaway's shirt was Carl's.

"You ok?" James nodded, jerking his head to where Carl's body was lying, not that it was recognisable as Carl Ashworth any more. The shot had gone in just under his chin and blown his face into a pulp.

"Doing better than him sir" He snorted and soon he was letting out weak, relief filled laughter. Lewis smiled along with him, seeing that his junior officer needed to release the tension he'd been holding in. He nearly missed the subtle changes that told him James was sobbing. He tactfully moved around in order to block James' view of the gore near to him.

"Ah come here kidda." He said as he held James close to him and the young copper cried into his jacket.

DC Michaels came up behind him, visibly paling as he saw Carl's body. Lewis looked up at him, aware that James was in no state to speak.

"Is he ok?" Lewis nodded.

"Aye he will be. Get the wagon out for that bastard" He gestured towards Ashworth. "And get an ambulance out for Hathaway"

"No!" James rasped, the sobbing having subsided. He shifted away from Lewis and moved to sit against the pillar. "No more...hospitals.. Can't go...not another...one" Michaels stood uncertainly, waiting for a pointer. Lewis looked over at the young man leaning against the pillar, eyes closed, tear stains tracking through the flecked blood on his face.

"Scratch the ambulance Mike. I'll get him home." The young DC went off to make the call to the coroner, leaving Lewis with his sergeant.

"Come on bonny lad, if you won't go to the hospital, you're coming back with me"

"There's no...need sir, Once I'm..in...my own bed..."

"Oh no. You won't get help and I'm not leaving you on your own to collapse or whatever. You've probably got a couple of broken ribs or something. No way James. Sending you home on your own'd be like signing your death warrant." James was too tired to argue. His throat hurt too much. He got to his feet, still swaying, and let the inspector help him limp out of the ruins of the asylum.

.

Lewis watched him through the whole car journey, making sure he was ok, listening for every hiss off pain. James noticed. Eventually he turned to face his superior.  
>"Sir. I'm fine...not going...to drop dead...ok?" His voice was hoarse. Lewis looked at him, saw the bruising around his neck where Ashworth's hands had tried to cut off his life. Would account for the hoarse voice anyway.<p>

"When you can say a straight sentence without having to breath in every two words, then I'll know you're ok."

.

After they stopped at Hathaway's house to get some of his stuff they got to Lewis' house. After helping his blood spattered sergeant on to the sofa he disappeared upstairs. James closed his eyes, letting the days event wash over him. An image of a mutilated face jumped out at him and he snapped his eyes open with a start as his inspector came back down the stairs. He gave James a curious look before setting a shirt and track suit bottoms, as well as Hathaway's bag of things from his house, in front of him.

"I figured you would fancy a shower, get yourself cleaned up like." James nodded his agreement.

"Yeah...Give me a second." Lewis smiled at him, trying to keep the mood light.

"Take as long as you like James. And you can stay here as long as you need to."

"Thank you sir. I really appreciate this. And...well you coming to get me."

"S'fine James. Maybe you'll do the same for me some day." James paled.

"Don't say that sir." Lewis looked at him properly for the first time since they had left the asylum. The man looked younger, much more innocent, but there was a haunted look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. Don't worry, I'm planning to stay around for a long time yet."

"So was I sir" came the whispered reply. Hathaway got up stiffly and made his way to the foot of the stairs, psyching himself for the long and painful climb to the bathroom. A shooting pain raced across his ribs as he tried to climb the first couple of steps. Lewis was suddenly at his shoulder, taking his weight, and helping him up the carpeted mountain.

After convincing his superior that he was fully capable of having a shower, he slowly undressed. Lewis had decided that the next thing on the agenda was food. And fluids. James had neglected to mention that he hadn't eaten for two days. He figured Lewis must have guessed and the man had slipped out to get food. Straightening up, he surveyed himself in the mirror. There was an ugly, angry bruise covering the ribs on his left. There was a raised red stripe across his left cheek, left by Carl's signet ring. He was covered in blood, Carl's dried blood was caked in flecks across his face. There was blood all over his torso, where it had sunk through his shirt,masking the burn caused by the shotguns barrel. His stomach had no visible signs of damage but it hurt enough for him to know otherwise. There was a scab forming on the back of his closely cropped head. His head was now pounding. He started shaking, making his way blindly to the shower. He took no notice of the freezing temperature of the water, concerned only with getting the blood and gore off his body.

.

When he returned downstairs Lewis was loading pizza onto plates. James smiled, he was starving. Lewis looked up and gave him a small grin.

"I guessed you'd be hungry, didn't fancy cooking. Er I got some paracetamol. You need something stronger lad, but if you won't go to the hospital..."

"No. I won't go to the hospital. I can't, not after..." Lewis nodded

"I get it son. I still don't like Wytham Woods. But I go there, when the need arises."

"I promise, if I collapse, I'll let you call an ambulance sir."

"You won't have a choice" Lewis was glad to see that James could talk without having to take deep breaths now, but his voice was still painful to hear. It was little more than a rasp. The lad looked a lot healthier now that he'd cleaned himself up. But his pale pallor showed that he was feeling anything but healthy. Lewis was fully aware that he was no doctor and that a doctor was what his friend truly needed, but he was loathed to make the lad go to hospital. The haunted look was still present in his friends eyes and he realised the mental effects may well outweigh the physical benefits of time on the wards. As Hathaway moved towards the table, Lewis stopped him.

"Living room James, you'll be a lot more comfortable there believe me." James nodded in agreement.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

.

Pizza finished, the two men sat back, each of them thinking different thoughts. James thinking that if he didn't get rid of the image of Carl Ashworths face that was burned into his mind, then he would never sleep again. Lewis thinking that he should have put his foot down and driven James to the hospital. This wasn't a few cuts and scrapes, this was a full blown beating. The boy was still pale, still drawn and still hurting. His throat wasn't getting any better and he was fully aware that James was too polite to complain if it did. He noticed Hathaway fighting to stay awake and smiled inwardly at the lads reluctance to put himself forward.

"Come on, get yourself upstairs to bed. You can't keep you eyes open man." James blinked sleepily.

"Upstairs, what? No sir I couldn't I'll be alright on the sofa."

"Don't be stupid lad. I may be older than you but, right now, I'm in better shape. A person in your condition shouldn't be sleeping on a sofa." James sighed, hating the fact that he was invading Lewis' home.

"Thank you sir."

"Come one then." James stood up and Robbie was alarmed by how much he seemed to sway. He staggered forwards a few steps and Lewis caught him. "Bloody hell James, he really did you over didn't he?" A weak nod. Scooping the paracetamol up, he hitched himself under James' shoulder and all but carried him up to his bedroom. He lay him on the bed and put the painkillers on the bedside table. A thin film of sweat had appeared on his sergeants face and he once again mentally kicked himself for letting James talk him out of taking him to hospital. Hathaway was either asleep or unconscious almost as soon as Lewis put him on the bed. He went downstairs and grabbed a chair and settled down to watch his sergeant. The sofa downstairs suddenly seemed very far way and he wanted to be nearby if anything went wrong. It'd be partly his fault anyway, he didn't take the younger man to hospital even though he knew he should have.

.

A shot gun. A padded cell. A maniacal man. A man with no face. These images were repeating themselves around Hathaway's head. The cycle started again, except this time it was him with no face and a shot gun wound in his chest. The images were looming to his minds eye and then the cycle started again. Now the man with no face was Lewis. His own voice came to haunt him, _"SIR! GET OUT! HE'S GOT A SHOT GUN"._ It mocked him, giving the warning when it was too late. It was a nightmare that he couldn't wake up from, his darkest fears of the last 48 hours manifesting themselves in his dreams. He woke with a start, confusion written on his face when he saw Lewis watching him worriedly.

.

It was about 3 am when Lewis awoke to scuffling sounds. He blinked, immediately looking over to Hathaway. Even in the half light of the bedroom, he could see the lad tossing and turning. He could hear the tormented murmurs of a man in the grips of fear. Unsure of what to do he hovered by the bed. James' eyes flicked open and the haunted look was there in full force.

"Easy kidda. Just a dream right." A sleepy nod. Lewis went to sit back down and James spoke.

"Sir. Please go to bed. I'm fine."

"Bollocks man. You were having a full blown nightmare just now."

"It's not fair on you." Hathaway croaked.

"Look. You need to talk about this, whether you like it or not. Because its not going to go away on its own. And the bastard will never let you go." James kept quiet for a little while thinking things over.

"Keep seeing him sir. Well what's left of him. Had my eyes open when the gun went off. Saw it...saw it all. I felt it. It burned me sir. The barrel was pressed against my chest."

"Burnt you? You should have said something, James."

"Doesn't hurt much. Blends into all the rest of it." James grimaced as he tried to sit up a bit. A glass of water was thrust into his hand and Lewis held out a couple of paracetamol for the younger man. The pills went down with a wince as they scraped his injured throat.

"Let me see."

"Sir! People will talk." Lewis smirked at the flash of his old wit.

"Don't be stupid." Lewis hissed in empathy as he saw the state of Hathaway's torso. Even the bruises had bruises. There was a burn welt running diagonally across his chest and the entire left side of the younger man's body was various shades of blue and purple. He should really see a doctor. He decided to tactfully skirt around that subject. He had a horrible feeling that his friend was getting worse. Yesterday his sergeant had managed to have a shower unaided, Last night he'd barely been able to stand. He saw the drowsiness brought on by painkillers take his hold on James as his eyes kept closing and then being forced open. There was a look of calm on his face that Lewis had missed the last few days. He knew then that he'd been right to press the issue, his sergeant had needed to get it off his chest. He was just about to leave the room when he heard a quiet mumble from the bed.

"Might...probably...hospital tommorow...sir."

He smiled. The lad would get there eventually, he'd never shake the images off completely but he'd learn to ignore them.


	6. Chapter 6

James awoke to a curling pain in his stomach. He was drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf. The sunlight was streaming through the windows, telling him it was at least nine o'clock. He shifted, trying to get the pain to be more comfortable. Opening his shirt, he gives a low whistle at the bruise on his side. He frowned at it, he was sure it had gotten bigger. He looks up as Lewis comes into the room with a cup of tea. He doesn't miss the look on Lewis' face.

"That bad is it?"

"James don't piss about. You can see its getting worse, hell you can feel it man."

"S'fine. Only hurts when I move." He smirks, "and a bit when I don't"

"Its not funny man. You look terrible."

"Then I feel about as good as I look."

"Let me take you to hospital Hathaway, come on before they end up carting you there in a black rubber suit" James nodded, all the humour gone from his face. If his stomach wasn't hurting so much, his fear would have fought against the decision.

"Ok. Let me get dressed first."Lewis nodded and left the room. He suppressed a groan as pain rippled across his abdomen. Getting up of the bed, he realised just how shaky he was. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat. He took a few shaky steps forward, pain lancing through his side, spots dancing over his vision. Fear or no fear, he sees that he should have let Lewis call him an ambulance before they even left the asylum. That bruise is spreading, his throat is still not getting better. He feels sick, and waves of heat fall over his body. He hears Lewis coming back up the stairs and hurriedly starts to get ready. He doesn't recognise the signs until its too late and the last thing he hears is his own pain filled groan as he succumbs to unconsciousness.

.

Lewis climbed the stairs, frowning as he realised that there was no noise from his bedroom. Looking towards the room, he started as he saw James' shoulder on the floor through the gap in the door. Running up the last few steps, he ran over to James' and turned him over.

"Stupid boy. You was never fine were you?" he mumbled to himself, noting the grey colour of James' face and the sickly sheen on his skin.

"Hardly think I'm stupid sir. Graduate Entry remember?" Hathaway's voice was little more than a whisper but the dry wit in his voice was still audible.

"Ye still a bloody idiot." He gave his sergeant a considering look. "Can ye sit up man?"

"Think so." Lewis eased James so he was sitting against the bed. Lewis sat next to him, making sure he was comfortable.

"You know, this would be a prime opportunity to say I told you so. Should have listened to me."

"Yeah. Ok. You win. Anyway I knew I should have gone to hospital, I just didn't want to. Couldn't face another hospital, not after...you know."

"Aye. Still, I've got at least 20 years on you. I've seen...well a lot of shit. Next time, you listen t'me anyway."

"Not all that keen on there being a next time sir." He smirked slightly. "And its more like 30 sir"

"Eh?"

"Thirty years sir. That you've got on me." He shifted slightly. "I think I can go now." Lewis looked at him incredulously.

"Nah way. I'm calling an ambulance. You'd never make it to the car man." James nodded. He couldn't help agreeing, he felt like he could sleep for a week. Actually, that didn't sound like a bad idea.

Lewis started as James' head dropped onto his shoulder. He would have thought it was kind of sweet if he wasn't so worried about the state the younger man was in. Calling the ambulance, he tried to prop James up against the bed again, taking care not to touch his ribs.

"Police, ambulance or fire sir?"

"Ambulance." he gave his address.

"What is the nature of the emergency sir?"

"My sergeant has taken a beating, collapsed at home."

"Ok sir. The ambulance is on its way."

Lewis turned back to his sleeping sergeant. The sheen on his face had got worse and he'd lost all colour. If anything happened to him, Robbie would never forgive himself.

There was a loud knock on the door and Lewis hurried downstairs to let the paramedics in. He showed them upstairs to where James was still propped up against the bed. They worked quickly, one of them tending to James and one asking Lewis questions.

"What happened here then mate?"

"He got beaten up on the job yesterday. Point blank refused to go to hospital."

"You should have made him go. It looks like he's been bleeding internally for the last 36 hours. He's bloody lucky he wasn't on his own."

"Aye well I wouldn't let him go home."

"Well he owes you for that."

"Yeah, he owes me for this and all" Lewis said sadly as he watched the paramedics putting the listless James on a stretcher.

"Don't be too hard on yourself fella. You did what you thought was best at the time. He won't hold it against you."

"That makes it worse."

.

Lewis sighed. His emotions had come full circle in the last 36 hours. Concern, relief, guilt and now concern again. He had told Innocent what had happened and she agreed to give him the next morning off to get a good sleep. He knew that he wouldn't sleep until he heard some news though. He thought she secretly knew the same thing. A doctor bustled down the corridor towards him and he stood up, anxious for any news.

"How is he doctor?"

"Well its hard to say inspector. He's lost a lot of blood. He has two broken ribs and a ruptured spleen. It was only a small cut so we've been able to repair it but it has been gradually leaking blood for a while. Did he receive a blow to the stomach?" Lewis nodded.

"At least one doctor. Yesterday evening."

"That is a common cause. He is also very lucky" Lewis snorted, the doctor scowled his disapproval. "No really, he is. Those broken ribs could have penetrated his lungs at any moment. The results would have been fatal. Those were the most pressing injuries, they others seem to be superficial. They will cause him pain for a while but there will be no lasting damage. He's not out of the woods yet though, not by a long shot. He really should have been in hospital straight away."

"He wouldn't go. Its a long story doctor, but believe me I tried."

"So how come he's here now?"

"He changed his mind. And then went and collapsed before he could do anything about it."

"I see. Well Inspector Lewis, it seems you both risked and saved his life." Lewis hung his head.

"Aye, I know. Can I see him doctor?"

"Yes. He's been dosed up with painkillers so if he wakes, he will probably be incoherent and confused."

"Ok."

.

Lewis entered James' room with trepidation. He had good cause to. If James had looked bad in before, he looked terrible now. He was still pale but this was emphasised by the light hospital sheets and gown that surrounded his sergeant. All of his injuries stood out much more in the white hospital light. The machines surrounding his bed beeped and whirred, showing his vital statistics. The IV bags, one containing blood, one containing painkillers and nutrients snaked down to his friends arm and gave him the life giving liquid. He couldn't get over how ill his sergeant looked. The young man looked like he'd been in the hospital for months being treated for something horrible. Lewis dragged a chair over to his young charge's bedside and settled down for the wait. He wasn't going to leave until the man opened his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thought that James' had upon waking up, was that he wished he hadn't. His body hurt, his throat hurt and he had never felt so tired in his life. He couldn't remember what had happened, didn't know where he was. He just knew that he didn't particularly want to be there. He opened his eyes, or rather tried to. His eyelids suddenly felt like a lead weight had been place on them. He tried to swallow but the too dry walls of his throat merely scraped together. He'd kill for a glass of water or something. Accepting that he can't open his eyes, he tries to call out but there is no sound. Too tired to panic he slips back into unconsciousness.

.

At a nearby coffee machine, Lewis spies the doctor and hails him, concerned with getting some more information on Hathaway's condition. The harried doctor gives as much information as he can.

"He is doing okay under the circumstances. When he awakes, he will be in considerable pain and will be extremely tired. From the bruising on his neck we believe he may have some trouble talking. When he is more stable we'll see about some x-rays to ascertain the damage to his throat. If you are present when he comes round, you should discourage him from talking. This may be difficult however as he will most likely be very confused and may not understand where he is or indeed who you are."

"He won't recognise me?" The idea filled Lewis with dread.

"He may not for a short while. Its only due to confusion. The brain's response to waking up to a silly amount of pain. It's nothing to worry about." But Lewis couldn't help it.

.

He wasn't sure how, but one moment he was blissfully unaware of the world and the next, he was blinking his eyes open. Pain flooded his senses and his brain finally noticed he was in a hospital. It took a little while for him to realise it wasn't the old asylum but...why? His eyelids gave up the fight. He couldn't remember...didn't know... He was so tired. He heard a noise and tried to move, sink into the bed and hide himself, but it sent lancing pain through his body. He heard a voice and they snapped open again, his brain desperately trying to connect the image of the man with his memory.

.

Lewis stopped short as he walked slightly into the room. James' eyes were open! As quickly as he saw, they were shut again, and he hurried to the man's bedside.  
>"James?" The eyes opened once more and the Inspector's heart sank at the lack of recognition. Sighing, he sat heavily back down on the chair, watching his sergeant for the faintest sign of deterioration. The younger man was staring at the ceiling, unmoving. The only thing indicating his life was the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Lewis watched him, willing him to show some interest in the world around him, willing him to make some effort to communicate. The idea that his sergeant may be giving up both terrified and appalled him. Suddenly he saw James' lips moving and he leant over to the bed, his hand resting on James arm. The young man frowned as he struggled to get the word out.<p>

"..ir?..." Lewis' almost laughed with relief.

"I'm right here kidda. Doctors say that you shouldn't talk." James swallowed and winced. He didn't feel like he could anyhow. "Do you need water? Well those ice things anyway." A nod. Lewis carefully spooned some ice chips into Hathaway's mouth, he didn't miss the look of gratitude on James' face. Once the ice had melted down his raw throat, James opened his mouth again.

"Don't. James, they don't know how bad the injures to you neck are. You really mustn't try to talk" He watched the battling emotions scuttle across his sergeants face. Frustration. Fear. Anger. Confusion. Pain. A sudden thought occurs to him.

"Do you remember what happened?" James considers this. He remembers the pub. He remembers the boot of a car and he remembers a padded sell in a run down asylum. He remembers a punch to the stomach. He remembers being carried upstairs. He remembers...30years? But he has no idea what actually happened, he's only seeing snapshots. He shrugs. He's fully prepared to comply with the doctors rules, he doesn't want to speak. He mouths to Lewis;

"Tell me." but before the older man can answer, a doctor bustles into the room and starts prodding Hathaway and asking him questions that he is fully aware the lad can't answer. The doctor's pointed look tells Lewis that he is expected to leave and he does so, promising that he'll be back in the morning.

.

The doctor surveys James as he tries to ask questions of the man.

"Does your head hurt?" James considers this. Raising his hand a little he shakes it, so-so. His hand drops back to the bed. "Your ribs." He gives a nod. "What about your stomach area?" A more vigorous nod, that he regrets almost as soon as he starts. He is getting tired again. He hates the weakness he feels but knows that there is nothing he can do about it. "We are going to take you for an X-ray now Mr Hathaway. I'm sure its nothing to worry about but we need to check." James finds it hard to believe this but he just nods and closes his eyes, letting sleep take him away.

.

The next day, Leis came back to the hospital. He'd memorised the location of Hathaway's room and found it with no problem. He met the doctor going into Hathaway's room with a manilla folder and the doctor smiled.

"Nothing to worry about Inspector Lewis." They both walked into the room and James' eyes flickered open at the noise. The doctor was the first to speak. "It seems there is no permanent damage to your throat Sergeant. It will hurt for a while and you will find it hard to speak but this is definitely temporary. I'll leave your inspector to talk to you. Good day gentleman."

Lewis watched the doctor leave and then moved the chair over to James' side and sat down.

"How're you feeling?" James raises his hand slowly and repeats the so-so gesture he gave the doctor the day before. The movement tires him and he lets the hand drop back to the bed. He swallows and grimaces. Lewis sees this and picks up the cup of ice chips, his eyebrow raised questioningly. James nods. Lewis goes to spoon some into his mouth but James stops him. He slowly moves his hand up and takes the cup himself. Bringing his other hand over his torso he spoons the chips into his mouth. Lewis just watches, ready to step in if the need arises. James, energy spent, nearly drops the cup and Lewis grabs it. "Careful lad. Don't over do it eh?" A weak smile. Then it disappears. Lewis leans closer, determined to make out what words his sergeants lips were forming.

"Tell. Me. What. Happened." Lewis sighs. Even unable to speak the man could be bloody intense.

"Where do you remember up to?"

"When. You. Turned. Up. At. The. Asylum." Lewis Sighs again and begins to go through everything , as he gets to the part where Ashworth punched Hathaway in the stomach, James groans. Lewis sees the pain in the man eyes.

"Ah. You remember now." He sees James nod slowly. "All of it?" There were tears in the young man's eyes. He finds his voice, barely more than a whisper, breaking over the phrase he struggles to utter.

"Yea..'member it all." Lewis smiles sadly at him.

"Go to sleep James. The quicker you mend, the quicker I can buy you a pint eh?" James smiles back.

"Than' you...'ir" Lewis turns to go and the exhausted young copper is asleep before he leaves the room.


	8. Chapter 8

Lewis sat at the table in the beer garden. He reflected on the last few weeks. After he had come out of hospital, Hathaway had been given a week off work. It didn't stop the man coming into the office but Lewis was grateful for the company and the chance to check on the young man.

When Hathaway had first come out of hospital Lewis had watched him constantly, watching him for signs of a relapse. James had eventually rasped out that he would make it known if he thought he was going to die and would Robbie stop fussing. The only disadvantage to James being in the office but off work, was that he got extremely bored and consequently got very annoying by taking great delight in winding up Lewis at every opportunity. Lewis hadn't said anything though, he'd much prefer annoying, childish James to the indifferent and pain racked one that he had witnessed that long week in the hospital. Sometimes that haunted James had returned in the station. He'd come back from an enquiry or lunch and find the young man slumped over the desk, asleep. There would always be a faint look of fear on his face, telling Lewis he'd been having a nightmare The odd hiss still escaped the sergeants lips and Lewis had known he was hiding most of the pain he must still feel. And he never talked about what had happened. The younger man had got tired quickly too. The first day out of hospital Lewis had brought him home in his car and the walk from the car to the living room of James' house had tired the man out. He wasn't fully over the hoarse voice either. It was slowly getting better, but the sergeant still had trouble talking for long periods of time.

Then he'd come back to work. Lewis had tried to give him light duties, paperwork and the like, but James had insisted on coming out on jobs with him. He seemed a lot better so Lewis only put up a token resistance. He realised this may have been a mistake when an hunch saw them driving past the old asylum. James had stopped mid-sentence and gone white as a sheet. Lewis had quickly drove on and told him to stay in the car while he went to talk to a witness. The most worrying thing of all had been the lack of argument from James, who generally insisted he was fine when he wasn't. By the time he'd got back to the car, it was like nothing had happened. James smiled at him as he got in and started to talk about some gig his band were playing next month and how Lewis should come. The inspector thought about mentioning the incident but thought better of it. James was coping in his own way and if that meant babbling on to his superior about everything and nothing, then Lewis was ready to listen.

They'd only been driving for a few minutes when James shouted at him to pull over. He dived out of the car and Lewis could only watch as he sprinted around the corner after a man who had just taken a lady's bag. The lady ran after him and Lewis followed suit. When rounded the corner he saw the lady kneeling next to his sergeant who was sat on the floor, back against the wall. Robbie got closer and could see the sweat standing out on his pale face. Seeing his concerned look, James grinned crookedly at him and held up his left hand, revealing the handbag dangling from it.

"Got it sir," he said as he stood up slowly, catching his breath. "The bastard got away though. Must have panicked when I collapsed. Dropped the bag and ran." He turned to the lady beside him. She smiled at him as he handed her the handbag. "Don't worry about it young man. You look like you could use a rest though." She looked over at Lewis. "Are you his boss? You're working him too hard."she said in a stern voice. James could only laugh at his bosses offended expression. Once she had left Lewis looked at him.

"Working too hard eh? You don't know the meaning of the word." Then in a softer voice, "You definitely ok? You don't want to see a doctor?" James smiled at him, shaking his head.

"Really sir, I'm fine."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you sergeant, you said that last time." James chuckled softly.

"And I'm in no hurry to repeat that experience. I've just overdone it a bit sir. Probably shouldn't be chasing muggers on newly healed ribs. But honestly I'm ok...Nothing a short car journey won't fix, we going back to the station?" Lewis grinned, seeing the truth in his younger friends smiling eyes. Still, it didn't surprise him that James fell asleep on the ten minute journey.

.

He looked up as the taller man stuck a glass filled with amber liquid under his nose.

"There you go sir, as a way of thanks." James said, as he sipped his own beer. "Ah. I've been waiting for that for three weeks." Lewis grinned. That was the only reason that they were sat out in the beer garden after all. Hathaway was now allowed to drink alcohol. He'd bought the first one, just like he'd promised he would in that hospital ward. "Tastes so much better after a period of abstinence, you should try it sometime sir."

"Not bloody likely sergeant." Lewis exclaimed, thinking of how Morse would have reacted had he suggested that 20 years ago. "You should be careful, after that _period of abstinence_ as you put it, it'll effect you quicker than usual."

"Yes Dad." came the facetious reply. Lewis shoved him in the shoulder lightly, watching the grin on James' face turn into a smirk. "Just for that, you can buy the next round sir" Lewis grunted non-committally but sure enough, when they had both finished their beers he went up to the bar. He came back with two scotches.

"Get this down you sergeant."

"Sir?" James questioned, unsure where this generosity had sprung from.  
>"What is it James?" Lewis said in an exasperated voice. "You're old enough aren't you?" James grinned.<p>

"Just about sir. Thank you sir." He watched as Lewis sipped the scotch and then did the same. Both men sat watching the sun sinking in the warm summer air and James realised that he really was fine after all.


End file.
